How Crazy Are Shandong-Style Baozi? Stuffed with Sea Cucumber, Abalone and Spare Ribs!

The place in China most skilled at making baozi,

A reminder: When eating baozi in Shandong, don’t swallow it whole—beware of cracking your teeth on the pork ribs. Of course, this warning might be unnecessary because Shandong baozi are so large that you can’t eat one in a single bite.

Inside Shandong baozi, there’s a whole piece of pork rib, complete with bone.

"Everything is big" is the common impression people have of the cuisine in "Hulk Shandong." Here, you’ll find 2.8-meter-tall Zhangqiu green onions, cherries as big as one-yuan coins, and Jiaodong steamed buns larger than your face... The same goes for baozi. When outsiders buy steamed buns in Shandong, they’re always shocked by the size of the baozi. In other places, you might feel full after eating a whole basket, but in Shandong, one baozi is enough to stuff you.

Of course, Shandong baozi aren’t just big—they also come in astonishing varieties: Along the Jiaodong coast, there’s an extravagantly luxurious seafood baozi stuffed with sea cucumber, sea urchin, sea sausage, abalone, scallops, and shrimp, showcasing the coastal bounty of Shandong. In Zouping, northwestern Shandong, there’s a paper-thin baozi with skin so translucent you can see the filling without taking a bite. And recently, when Zibo’s barbecue went viral, it also brought fame to the city’s large intestine baozi—who would’ve thought you could stuff braised intestines into a baozi!

You’ll never guess just how many amazing things can be packed into a Shandong baozi.

Shandong people love baozi. At home, when steaming buns, they’ll casually wrap a few baozi—even if they don’t eat them right away, there’s always next time. Walking the streets of Shandong, you’ll see all kinds of baozi: pan-fried baozi, paper-thin baozi, rib baozi, seafood baozi... Just like with their oversized steamed buns, Shandong folks have gotten creative with baozi. If you think Shandong is plain and unadorned, their baozi will show you that even within the confines of a palm-sized space, infinite imagination can flourish.

In Shandong, China’s carb powerhouse, baozi have always held a place of honor on the dining table. With their jaw-dropping size and unexpectedly diverse fillings, Shandong people are here to redefine baozi for you.

Bigness is in Shandong’s DNA, ingrained in every inch of its land—and this applies to its food as well. While other regions focus on making dishes smaller and more refined, Shandong cuisine takes the "super-sized" route. To make baozi big, you need to work on both the dough and the filling.

Shandong is China’s second-largest wheat-producing province. With an abundance of locally grown flour, the sky’s the limit when it comes to baozi-making. If the dough is a natural advantage bestowed by geography, the fillings are a stage for Shandong people to showcase their culinary creativity.

To achieve thin skins and generous fillings, Shandong people have unique baozi-wrapping techniques.

While baozi elsewhere are stuffed with fillings, Shandong baozi might as well contain entire dishes. For vegetarian baozi, Shandong has a "hack": any vegetable sourced from the "cosmic Shouguang" wholesale market can go inside. Take, for instance, locally grown Shouguang chives paired with free-range eggs and a sprinkle of dried shrimp—this alone makes for a delicious baozi feast. Nearby Weifang produces radishes, which are shredded and mixed with a bit of minced meat to become a winter staple in every household.

Another "powerhouse" vegetable is Jiaozhou cabbage. A few leaves chopped up and paired with Longkou vermicelli or brine tofu can leave you stuffed. Key flavor enhancers include Zhangqiu green onions, Lanling garlic, and Laiwu ginger. This "holy trinity" of seasonings ensures that no matter how big the baozi, it’s never bland.

Shandong baozi: one baozi, one full dish.

When it comes to meat baozi, Shandong people get even more inventive. In Longkou, eating baozi means spitting out bones. Chopped ribs are mixed with seasonal green beans or cabbage to make the filling—even without the dough, this combo would make a fine dish on its own. Locals joke that if a Shanghainese buys spare ribs, the vendor asks, "Making sweet and sour ribs?" But if a Shandong native buys them, the question is, "Going home to make baozi again?"

It’s no secret that the Jiaodong region loves seafood. But stuffing seafood into baozi is a culinary flair only locals truly appreciate. The dough is made with warm water and left to rise fully. For the filling, chives and lean meat are diced, stir-fried in hot oil, and then combined with seafood—the choice of which is entirely up to the cook.

When in Shandong, never underestimate the size of a baozi.

In short, in Shandong, if you can imagine it, locals can wrap it in a baozi.

"The baozi stage is set—bring your fillings!"

Shandong TV once aired a down-to-earth show called *I Am a Big Star*, which not only spawned countless meme-worthy clips but also left behind a slogan: "Life’s a big stage—bring your dreams!" Slightly tweaked, it fits baozi perfectly: "The baozi stage is set—bring your fillings!"

Spend a few days in Shandong, and you’ll inevitably feel, "My past understanding of baozi was far too narrow!" Because there are simply so many varieties here.

Jiaodong Big Baozi: One is enough to fill you up

Jiaodong baozi are all about size, with each weighing over four liang. Holding one in your hand, you can sense both the warmth and simplicity of Shandong people and the wisdom of "living off the land and sea." The appeal of seafood-filled baozi needs no elaboration, but what’s noteworthy is how Jiaodong locals adhere to seasonal eating.

In the Jiaodong region, baozi are a seafood feast.

In late spring and summer, green beans take center stage in Jiaodong baozi, offering their richest flavor. By late summer and autumn, chives become the star filling, paired with fatty pork cubes and seaweed for a savory yet non-greasy taste. As winter approaches, cabbage and radish become the everyday fillings. Come early spring, wild vegetables like mountain greens and seepweed sprout, and elderly folks with small shovels bring them home—only for them to end up as baozi fillings.

Seepweed paired with seafood makes a filling that’s doubly fresh.

Central Shandong Baozi: An Overlooked Lu Cuisine Gem

Jinan, the capital of Shandong, is a stronghold of Lu cuisine, and here lies a unique "famous Lu cuisine restaurant"—Caobao Baozi Shop. Nearly every longtime Jinan local knows its name, as the craftsmanship of Caobao baozi is renowned in central Shandong.

Caobao baozi, a staple for longtime Jinan residents.

The three-delicacy filling of Caobao baozi is a crowd favorite. The meat filling is hand-chopped and mixed with bamboo shoot cubes and cake cubes, while aged soy sauce and small-ground sesame oil enhance the flavor. The wrapper is pleated into 18 folds, resembling a chrysanthemum, with just the right thickness. After steaming, any baozi that "loses its bottom" or "leaks oil" is discarded, ensuring only perfect ones are served. The time it takes to eat baozi might not even match the time the chef spends making a single batch.

Shandong’s burly men also understand "rough with refinement."

In stereotypes, Shandong people are often seen as straightforward, but when it comes to baozi, they’re anything but. In Zouping, northwest Shandong, paper-thin baozi are the local pride. Like many foods, its origins are shrouded in palace legends, but its verifiable history spans over 300 years.

The thin wrapper lets you see the filling inside.

The standout feature of Zouping baozi is its paper-thin skin. Thus, the quality of the dough determines the baozi’s success. The key trick is blending yam juice into the flour for elasticity and chewiness. Once this step is done, the filling can be lavish or simple. The steamed baozi are translucent, with the filling faintly visible. No need to ask, "What’s inside?" when it’s served.

In Lijin, northeast Shandong, the focus is on the baozi’s base. Local records show that as early as the Guangxu era of the Qing Dynasty, many shops specialized in pan-fried baozi. The method is intricate: the baozi are placed upside-down in a flat pan, covered with a flour-water mix until absorbed, then fried in oil. The sizzling sound heralds crispy-bottomed baozi, comforting both stomachs and hearts in this Yellow River town, whether at dawn or dusk.

Crispy-bottomed Lijin pan-fried baozi.

Why do Shandong people love baozi so much?

Historical records show the term "baozi" first appeared in the Song Dynasty. The Yan Yi Yi Mou Lu notes: "On Emperor Renzong’s birthday, officials were bestowed baozi." Back then, commoners still called them "mantou," while "Imperial Academy mantou" were all the rage among officials. Scholars who passed the imperial exams were rewarded with one such mantou and a bowl of lamb soup.

But Shandong’s love for baozi isn’t due to this. Its popularity stems more from memories of scarcity. As Ji Xianlin recalled, people in the past ate "yellow" food daily—cornmeal buns—which were hard to swallow. Only during festivals could they enjoy "white" food like baozi or dumplings.

For inlanders, rare delicacies like sea sausage baozi are a daily staple in Jiaodong households.

In times when material conditions were not yet abundant, warm-hearted Shandong people often treated guests with steamed buns. A pot of freshly steamed buns could not only fill the stomach but also satisfy cravings. Back then, if a household steamed a pot of buns, it would practically make the neighbor's children drool with envy.

Moreover, compared to other regions, Shandong's agricultural civilization was more prominent. Taking a few buns to the fields provided meat, vegetables, and staple food all in one. From the perspective of portability, this might also be why buns became a staple in every household. Furthermore, the local area was rich in produce—seafood, meat, and vegetables were all readily available. After figuring out "what tastes best," Shandong people naturally came to treat buns as a proper dish.

So, from this perspective, Shandong buns are big, but their significance goes beyond size. Because what they encompass is not only the finest local ingredients but also the innate kindness, openness, and hospitality of Shandong people.

Steaming hot buns sold at a Shandong morning market.

Cover image | QD milk-soaked biscuits